


Number Eight

by talefeathers



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Initiation, Memory Loss, Organization XIII - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 10:04:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6978871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talefeathers/pseuds/talefeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Organization XIII gains an eighth member.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Number Eight

When he comes to, he has no memories.

His mind is not completely empty; he has words, though he has no recollection of how he got them. He has movement, too, and pushes himself into a sitting position with the fluid ease of someone who has controlled a body for years. But he has no name for this place; no knowledge of how he came to be here or whether he even existed before this moment. He doesn’t even have a name for himself.

“Stand up.”

He starts at the sound of a voice; there is a figure standing before him that was not there mere moments ago, shrouded in black. He does not stand, defiance flaring in his chest like an old friend. He shifts backward a bit on the grass, tensed for a confrontation.

“Wouldn’t you like to know who you are?” the hooded figure asks him. “Wouldn’t you like meaning?”

He would like that, he thinks. 

He notices that his clothes match those of the mysterious figure before him; his own hood is drawn back, but the cloak itself is identical. Perhaps he belongs with this person after all, he thinks. Perhaps this person can tell him what he doesn’t remember.

It’s worth a shot, he thinks.

He stands and approaches the hooded figure warily. He nods in reply to his earlier questions. Yes, I would like to know who I am. Yes, I would like meaning.

The figure makes a sweeping motion with one arm, and letters appear in the air between them.

L E A

This stirs something, but before he can think any more about it the figure makes another sweeping motion, and the letters rearrange themselves. They continue to swirl, faster and faster, until the figure freezes them with an outstretched palm, locking them together with an X.

A X E L

“There. A name for you,” the figure says. “Axel. You are the eighth of us.”

The figure offers its hand to him, beckoning.

“Welcome to Organization Thirteen.”


End file.
